


No Better Excuse

by Percygranger



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Consentacles, Humor, Other, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percygranger/pseuds/Percygranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is there ever a good excuse for tentacle porn?</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Better Excuse

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed by the lovely mugenmine.
> 
> For the Sherlock BBC Kinkmeme, which [prompted](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/12432.html?thread=65164432#t65164432):
> 
> "based on the following text from a friend who's probably applying brain bleach as we speak:
> 
> I really didn't want the picture of Sherlock getting bent over by a tentacle creature as he slowly critiques it's performance stuck in my head. 
> 
> I really, really like this picture and hope someone else will like it enough to write some fic about it."

The creature (“Octopus?” “No, John, of course not, it’s clearly mythological in origin. Look at the colouring pattern.”) did not talk, exactly. Seemingly appearing from nowhere, its communication consisted of body language and an idiosyncratic sign language Sherlock grasped within an hour. After he had ascertained that it had no intention of bringing them a case or murdering anyone, Sherlock saw no reason not to acquiesce to (his, her, its?) request to engage in penetrative intercourse. It was the least boring offer he’d received in the past month. The only concern Sherlock had was privacy. John had repeatedly emphasized the need to conduct sexual intercourse without an audience.

 

“It wants milk. Go get us some, John.”

 

“You’re sure it’s harmless?” John looked speculatively at the creature. It ‘sat’ by the sofa, radiating polite interest.

 

Sherlock shot John a _look_.

 

“Don’t look at me like I’m stupid; I’m just being cautious... and don’t you dare blame me if it decides your arse is more interesting than tea.”

 

“Where _would_ you get such an idea?” Sherlock was aware of this area of pornography. It had been a detail relevant to a case several years back, and Sherlock had kept it in case Anderson needed especial humiliation. He hadn’t thought John would know, though. Interesting.

 

“Um. Ahem, never mind.” John flushed slightly, and left more hastily than usual.

 

Sherlock turned back to the creature after John departed, asking, “Are you male or female?”

 

The being made an extremely complicated movement that translated roughly into a shrug.

 

“I see. Creatures from myths don’t really need a sex, do they?”

 

This time the creature’s tentacles expressed a combination of agreement and humour.

 

“And yet you want to have sex- even you aren’t above puns? The world is mad.”

 

“John will return in approximately one hour. We should proceed now if you desire intercourse.”

 

The creature eagerly reached forward with two of its thinner and more flexible tentacles, slipping into Sherlock’s dressing gown, pushing it back and off of his shoulders. Sherlock cooperated. It was nice to have a partner willing to do most of the work. Sex wasn’t his area. He’d figured that out after careful consideration of his encounters with other human beings, but this creature was _fascinating_. It certainly wasn’t every day you met a sentient nonhuman (although Sherlock could argue that not all humans deserved the designation of sentience), especially not one from obscure stories in which most people did not believe.

 

He helped it remove the rest of his clothing, a set of pyjamas, no pants today (John had yet to do the laundry). Then, having considered the options available in regards to positioning several minutes ago, he walked to the sofa, bending over the back of it as the creature followed. The sofa back was surprisingly uncomfortable, prompting Sherlock to grab the nearest pillow and put it between his stomach and the top of the backrest.

 

“You can begin at any time, now,” he announced, after waiting an interminable twenty seconds. He turned his head as the sounds of the tentacles shuffling against one another indicated that the creature was ‘speaking’.

 

“Oh, I see. I shouldn’t have assumed,” Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows while he lectured. “There are two ways that mammalian, sexual creatures such as humans have penetrative sex. I assume that, as you are neither male nor female, and, in all possibility, mythical, you don’t have a vaginal or anal opening inside your mass somewhere?”

 

‘No’ was a short, sharp gesture, easy to understand.

 

“Then penetrating me anally is the best option. _This_ is my anus,” Sherlock demonstrated by pulling his buttocks apart and touching his anal opening with his middle finger. “As penetration there is not a procreative act, there is no natural lubrication. You’ll have to provide your own.”

 

The creature responded by drawing into itself and waving back and forth a few times before extending a tentacle that glistened. Sherlock ran a gentle finger delicately across the tip of it. The creature shuddered. Sherlock noted the reaction while tested the consistency of the lubrication, rubbing it between his fingertips.

 

“Acceptable,” he declared, “any other concerns?”

 

The creature stilled for a few seconds, thinking, then indicated a negative response.

 

“Good,” Sherlock turned back, putting his hands on the seat cushions. “Next, the anal muscles need to be stretched. Humans generally start with one finger and work up to the size of whatever they’re going to insert. Also, the average length and width of erect human penises are 13 centimetres. I would appreciate it if you did not go beyond 26 centimetres in depth or 15 centimetres in width.”

 

There was quiet rustling as the creature moved forward and passed the lubricant from the original, rather large tentacle to a smaller one. Sherlock breathed in as his buttocks were parted and the cold, slippery tip of the smaller tentacle tentatively explored the outside of his anus.

 

“I forgot to mention: humans being warm-blooded creatures, cold, that is, less than our natural body temperature of 37 degrees Celsius, causes muscles to contract, which is not the effect either of us wish. Could you possibly increase your temperature to match mine?”

 

Sherlock twisted his head, trying to find a way to look at the creature without changing his basic position. It wasn’t possible, or necessary, apparently. The tentacle began to warm up, stopping when it felt like a human-warm limb against Sherlock’s arse. He didn’t have to prompt it again. Having gained a basic knowledge of the act, the creature began to explore more confidently, pushing the smaller tentacle inside. Shallow thrusts were soon followed by deeper and more experimental motions. Sherlock’s eyes widened as one of its ventures, a spiralling push, grazed his prostate.

 

“That nerve cluster you just pushed past? That was my prostate. It is mildly pleasurable when stimulated in most human males. Doctors also ‘milk’ it to release semen without orgasm. Some men can be brought to orgasm from prostate stimulation alone, but I am not one of them. You can stretch me more, now.”

 

Soon the first tentacle was joined by a second, the two slipping in just slightly out of sync. Sherlock breathed through the initial stretch, relaxing as best he could to help the creature’s efforts along.  He soon got bored of the motions they made; its creativity apparently curtailed by the new addition.

 

“Can you do something different? Sexual experiences are not focused solely on this one act. The skin is the largest and most sensitive organ on the body. You can stroke me in other places, and I’d like some more prostate stimulation.”

 

There was a mildly affronted rustle of tentacles behind him (when had he started learning how it felt from its sounds?), but the creature complied, bringing gentle appendages across Sherlock’s back and legs, wrapping around to the front. It felt remarkably pleasant, like a full body hug. Sherlock relaxed into it, testing how well it supported/confined him.

 

“This is acceptable,” Sherlock, remembering a recent talk show that recommended praising your sexual partners in order to shape their behaviour, added, “You are doing well for your first time.”

 

The creature rustled in response, pleased, and increased its explorations.

 

Appendages found Sherlock’s nipples with a few more comments from Sherlock. He’d never really enjoyed that kind of sensation, but his agreement with the creature was to increase its knowledge of human anatomy and experiences. Best to give it a large sample range.

 

Oddly, Sherlock’s favourite area to be touched was his stomach. He’d only learned this because of a rather strange woman he’d had intercourse with during his trials with sexual pleasure. She’d loved rubbing his ‘tummy’, as she called it, and talking to him like he was a child. He’d enjoyed the sensation, but not the overall experience.

 

It took about ten minutes total for Sherlock to be ready to finish with the encounter. He wasn’t more than half-hard. His other partners had had to work very diligently to obtain more than that from him, and he didn’t wish any more this evening.

 

“I’m afraid that we will have to bring this to a close. I have no desire to ejaculate tonight. Does your kind have a peak of emotional or physical pleasure they obtain through physical closeness?”

 

The creature managed to moan softly, perhaps by rubbing two tentacles together. It seemed lost in sensation.

 

“I see. I’ll wait, then,” Sherlock relaxed into the creature’s hold once again, turning his mind to other, more interesting problems while the creature finished whatever act a nonsexual creature did to bring itself pleasure. Its motions became increasingly fast, its tentacles expanding a bit more, bringing a sharp “Careful!” to Sherlock’s lips.

 

It slowed itself, but kept its current size inside Sherlock, then stilled around him, squeezing enough that Sherlock had to breathe shallowly for a minute. Sherlock decided that meant it was done, and continued his lecture.

 

“Withdrawing must be done slowly, so as not to cause discomfort. The anal muscles are surprisingly elastic, but the skin is fragile. An odd contradiction, certainly, but one that must be observed and worked around.”

 

The creature complied, contracting and gently removing slick tentacles from Sherlock’s arse, leaving him empty, and slightly cramping. It let him find his balance again before unwrapping its appendages from his body. Sherlock turned to face the creature.

 

“What are you going to do now?”

 

The movements it made were more difficult for Sherlock to understand, for some reason. He had to ask it to repeat, slowly, before making out the gist. “A woman, really? Well, I do understand the need for scientific completeness. Best of luck,” Sherlock watched as the creature _faded_ from view, not truly turning invisible, but most people would not be able to see it. He saw it only because he knew it was there, he suspected (and now that he knew there were creatures like this, he’d be watching. Who knew what else could be out there?).

 

The creature sidled out of the room, and Sherlock retrieved his robe, returning to the couch. He flopped onto it, contriving to spare his arse by facing the backrest. He stayed that way, ruminating on the encounter, as well as several other problems, until John returned, finally having won his inevitable battle with the chip-and-pin machine.

 

“Didn’t you say the... thing wanted milk?”

 

“Mythological creature. I found some.”

 

There was a put upon sigh in the vicinity of the kitchen. “Was there? So this entire errand was useless?”

 

“Actually, it drank all the milk we had, so you are very timely indeed, John. Make us some tea?”

 


End file.
